


become wild

by Nyxierose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-06-30 06:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19847248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: 31 moments of relationship development during the post-s2 grayspace.





	1. easier (prompt: writing)

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely self-indulgent fluff, semi-platonic domesticity, relationship development, and probably a bit of hurt/comfort somewhere in here. Working loosely off the "Mental Health Whump" prompt list by [@to-hell-with-oblivion on tumblr](https://to-hell-with-oblivion.tumblr.com), but we'll see where everything leads.

They develop routines without meaning to.

Fact is, neither of them wants to run things. A month after Everything Went Wrong, as Abby has taken to describing a particular set of calamities in the recent past, it feels like there is very little _to_ run. The Ark was well-organized out of necessity, a good mixture of people survived the descent, and everyone with any skillset is doing exactly what they did up in the sky.

There are just… logistics, and territory issues, and wild animals, and for all of that some kind of leadership is at least necessary to the extent it makes things look like a little less of a shitshow. And by technicalities, she's still the figurehead. In reality…

In reality, she's found herself an accomplice in the most unlikely form and the scary part is it _works_. Now that he doesn't feel like he's got the survival of the _entire_ human species on his shoulders, Marcus is almost tolerable. Much, much less of a dick than the version of him that drove Abby crazy for the past ten years. Has learned that "compromise" is a thing he might occasionally be capable of. Is patient, at times, and kind, much more often.

She needs _someone_ , she justifies. He was close by. And with this current guilt complex he's developed, he'll do whatever the hell she asks. She can work with it.

It helps that they barely have to see each other.

There is a shared office with a door that doesn't lock and a slowly increasing amount of creature comforts. (She did not ask where that blanket came from, but she has some suspicions.) It is rare for them both to be there at the same time. She still has tasks in medical, a beautifully mundane run of sprained limbs and mystery animal bites and none of the quiet tragedies of deprivation she's used to, and he has… honestly, she does not know what he does when he's not in their workspace and she does not ask because she does not care.

Six months ago, she would've. Six months ago… oh, she never had a loose network of sources like he did, never had the hand for spying on people, but she would've worried enough to piece together an explanation on her own. But as things are, Abby is sharply unbothered by what her co-leader might be up to when he's not looking at reports he doesn't understand as much as he claims he does. There was some talk about teaching other factions advanced weaponry, and while she personally thinks that's a _terrible_ idea, she's not about to stop it either. Until or unless someone gets shot. She'd draw that line, march right out to the area the guard has appropriated for target practice and tell them what will happen if they point weapons at anything that isn't either a large animal or actively trying to kill them, but until then…

Circumstances as they are, a month after Everything Went Wrong, she is calm enough to leave her concerns on pieces of paper in places they will be seen. The workspace door doesn't lock and doesn't reliably close all the way, but it has been made perfectly clear that exactly two people are allowed in there no matter _how_ much of an emergency is going on outside. She asked for pretty paper when the cleanout of the mountain began, because she is allowed to want small indulgences in her current role and she couldn't imagine anyone else would make that request, and was rewarded with several packages in a delicate pale blue. Distinctive against the dark couch, distinctive against the eclectic other furniture, and as _her_ as anything she's ever done.

She has to leave echoes somewhere, she thinks.

_If the hunting party comes back a day early, tell them to meet me in medical._

_A solar panel over the south wing might be sparking. You're more intimidating. Get that dealt with._

_I heard a rumor about you taking on overnight guard shifts. You have to sleep SOMETIME. Don't do that._

Some days, three or four pieces of paper get left in different spots. They are always gone whenever she comes back. For the most part, whatever she asks gets done.

She knows, objectively, that she might be taking advantage of him a little bit. The man is having a very visible midlife crisis and for some unholy reason has picked _her_ as a tether, and she should probably be more gentle about that, and yet…

"Do you mind?" she asks on one of the rare afternoons they are both in their space, on wildly separate projects but next to each other on the couch close enough that she could reach for his hand if she wanted.

"Mind what?" he asks, turning to look at her all wide-eyed. He's learned a new expression these past few weeks - worried panic. From what she can piece together, she's been the only person on the receiving end, and she's not sure how she feels about it, and-

"The lists I leave. Things I want you to do."

A much more familiar expression now, amused and just a little done. "We have to communicate somehow, Abby. And you haven't asked anything that isn't…"

"It's easier," she murmurs. "You're a hard person to keep track of now."

"As are you."

"You could… you could do the same. If you wanted."

The next day, he does.

There's much less that needs to be communicated the other direction - Marcus has taken to trying to solve _every_ problem he encounters without any real help, and Abby worries that might get him killed at the rate he's going, good grief he _had_ to pick this point in his life to get reckless - but she starts finding little slips of paper in the space. Scraps torn off other things, neat print handwriting. No emergencies, rarely even projects, just little things he thinks she should know sooner than he'll realistically see her.

_The last search party didn't find any trace of her. We'll keep trying._

_Do you think we need an official policy about pets? I'm not sure that thing one of the kids wrestled a leash onto is actually a cat._

_You need to sleep sometimes too._

They fall together. They make it work.


	2. no harm meant (prompt: learning)

She doesn't know how _much_ she is, Marcus thinks midway through that winter.

There have been days, all too many of them over the years, when his constant headache could be blamed on That Woman. Frequently, the problem has been that she knows exactly what she's capable of and how to use everything she is to get things done in her favor. Abby has flaws, same as anyone else, but her confidence and determination are not among them. For years, a nightmare. Now, a north star.

But that's not it, he thinks as he watches her from across a public space. Her awareness of her sharp edges has nothing to do with the current problem. No, the issue is…

The issue is she's taken on a much different role in his world, and he has to try to remember the years when she was secretly his favorite sparring partner because she was the only person he knew who could always, even when she was grieving and hadn't slept in three days, keep up with him. These past few months, his perception of her has completely transformed, and now she is… he doesn't have words for it, at this moment, what he feels and what he wants. But oh, he wants.

He won't act on any of this. He can't. Given their history, and the heartbeat of shock he still feels when she shows him the littlest kindness even though that often happens multiple times a day now, any feelings he may have about her are going to stay buried. He will do better by her, yes, and he would be willing if she wanted him, but he will not cross the boundary and become one more weight she carries.

They can be friends, he compromises. They can become closer and not burn each other down. That will have to be enough.

Still, at a safe enough distance that she's paying no attention to his presence, Marcus is fascinated by her. The way she moves so deliberately, a missile made flesh. The way her hair almost glows in the midday sun, more so because she's left it loose today. How can anyone look at her and not be completely overwhelmed by beauty? How can anyone-

"You're avoiding me."

He blinks, and there she is opposite him. She has this way of doing that sometimes, using his distractedness to her advantage, and it would worry him if it was anyone else but it's _her_ so-

"Not avoiding you," he counters.

Abby rolls her eyes, seeing right through him as always. While her intentions seem to have softened around him lately, her core reactions have stayed the same and there's a certain comfort in that.

"Not avoiding," she repeats. "Just staring at me like constellations."

He remembers that night last week, standing with her under the stars, trying to figure out what the hell anything was and failing. Patterns in the sky and yet she was more beautiful, the lines of her so much clearer than faraway stars, and-

"No harm meant," he murmurs. He would like to avoid this conversation, if not forever then at least for a few years until he figures out how to say things. (He suspects she will not give him that kind of time.)

"I know. I don't mind, I just… you're part of this too. Staying on the sidelines isn't a good self-inflicted punishment. You don't deserve that."

"And if I'm more comfortable here?"

"You might have to say that a few more times before I believe you."

Strange, this new thing they have become. The same energy as when they used to yell at each other, always public because the two of them alone behind closed doors could've gone somewhere even worse, and yet not at all. No harm meant, on either side. Playful and innocent - him, for the first time at 42, innocent - and enjoying each other's company. She's not bothered by his awkwardness, and he hasn't exactly _done_ anything anyways, and-

"You could stay here with me, if you want to help."

He expects her to bolt, but instead she twirls around and stands next to him, back against an exterior wall.

"That an actual offer? Because I do need to breathe before running more damage control…"

"Of course, Abby. I'll ward off whatever tries to come your way."

She reaches for his hand, and her fingers are tiny and cold - all of her body runs cold, he would like to forget the reasons he knows that, but right now it's all too vivid. "Alright," she murmurs. "We can do this."


	3. i know you (prompt: color)

She notices him that winter.

No, perhaps that is not enough of a word for what happens. As days become weeks become months, Abby watches her counterpart with newfound curiosity. At first, because she doubts his changes will last, but then…

Then they do, and then it is altogether different.

The man she watches unfold is a new creature. She had known, had hoped that Earth would change people. She did not expect Marcus Kane to be the most changed of all, and yet it's like watching the end of a hibernation, a sleeping animal waking up and experiencing the new world around its nest.

Yet he is no animal. If anything, he is human on a level she never dreamed would be possible for him.

Not that she ever thought about it, really. Not like she _cared_. Up in the sky, in a past life, his purpose in her orbit was a sparring partner she couldn't push away. Other people saw the worst of her, how venomous and stubborn she could be, and learned to stay away. Not him. No, some combination of masochism and the same traits that caused her own problems kept him crossing her lines, and she thrived on it. She supposes they both did, a sanity valve neither would ever admit they needed.

It's been over a month since she last yelled at him, long enough that she can barely remember the cause. New record. Unthinkable. Beautiful, in a quiet sort of way.

She watches him become wild, in a sense, strip away his fidelity for rules in favor of a more comfortable existence. This, as much as Abby would like to pretend she isn't looking, is a transformation with physical signals. He is no longer meticulous about appearance, and she has no idea why he decided to grow that beard - nor can she ask, she is in no position to voice such curiosity - but it suits who he is becoming. Wild, and better for it, and-

"Everything alright?"

She's spaced out again, like she's done more and more when they're both in the workspace and she really ought to start finding other things to do elsewhere whenever he wanders in because one of these days he's going to notice and she is _not_ ready for that conversation. Quickly, her eyes flit back to the datapad in front of her. She doesn't have a damn clue what she's even looking at, and it's likely something he could interpret so much better, and she's scared to admit that, and-

"Long day," she murmurs, hoping to deflect and knowing it won't work.

"It's barely-"

"I know, and I haven't been sleeping, and I'm just… not here today."

Had she said any of this at any other point in her life, especially to this man currently occupying an uncomfortable-looking folding chair on the opposite end of their space, she would've been shut down in a heartbeat. But he's staring at her like he can see through her, as she suspects he _can_ some days, and oh this may actually be worse.

"You can go rest, if you want to."

"If I want to," Abby repeats. The words burn her tongue, and she feels a familiar consuming anger rising within her. Good, she can salvage this in a different direction. "When have I ever been able to do anything because I _wanted_ to?!"

She expects matching anger in return; instead, Marcus looks at her like some kind of wounded animal. Shit, so much for that scheme.

"I know you," he murmurs, getting to his feet and crossing the space and taking the datapad from her hands. His fingers brush against her skin more than is absolutely necessary, and he's close enough that she could drown in his deep dark eyes, and this is not fair. "And I know how you push yourself. And you can't… you can't do that here."

"And who the fuck are you to tell me what I can and can't do?!"

His eyes dart around the room for a few moments and his breath catches, and she suspects there is a dangerous answer he is not yet ready for. "Someone who cares about you," he settles for. "Perhaps better than you care for yourself."

"I hate you," she growls, only half meaning it.

"You need to do better."

"Says the man who's done three sixteen-hour guard shifts in the past week."

"I don't have anyone who needs me."

It takes her a moment to process the implications, the fact that he is perhaps more aware than she is in this moment of her familial obligations. (Does it make her a bad mother if she doesn't spend every waking moment worried about Clarke? Does it make her an even worse one if she's reasonably certain her kid can survive anything and she's not all that worried?) Abby supposes he has a point there - even ignoring her currently-MIA teenage daughter, she has always thrived on and needed human connection, whereas he… she can't say for sure, but she highly doubts he's ever had that like she has, let alone clung to it so desperately.

And she sees that pain in his eyes as he waits for her next vicious comment, someone who has been too alone for too long, and her heart breaks a little.

"Yes," she murmurs, wishing she were brave enough to use her body to say what she doubts her words will get across. "Yes you do."

She's not sure how to describe the look on his face beyond some kind of point-blank terror yet comforting at the same time. Perhaps at least something is getting through.

"We're both terrible at this," Marcus compromises - and that there is another part of his emergence, his newfound willingness to admit when he's been wrong. "But today…"

"Is it okay by you if I just take a nap here?" she asks. "I don't really want to-"

"Of course. I can leave, or-"

"I know you too. You're hiding from _something_. Whatever it is, it won't find you here."

She curls up on the couch before she can say anything that might get her in trouble, and is unsurprised as he drapes the blanket over her. She'd never _ask_ , but little kindnesses like that are becoming part of their routine and she appreciates it more than she'll ever say.

"Rest, Abby. You need it."

As her eyes close, she thinks for a moment about the way he looks at her. Deep dark brown eyes seeing through her and not being disappointed by her wreckage. She could drown in that. She hopes she gets the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. So. Things happened. That makes me more motivated to write this, and write for this ship in general, because they saved my life. I'm not going anywhere...


	4. empty spaces (prompt: scent)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorta breaking my plan with this one, but... 2x16 missing scene still COUNTS. I know I've written this scenario a few times before, but it still melts me so here we go.

She is so small and she should not be, vulnerable and falling apart and he wants to envelop her and keep her far away from anything else that might ever want to hurt her. All of this is new and terrifying, yet at the same time a logical progression of things that have been in motion for months now, and Marcus is unsure what to do with any of it.

What he is sure of, as he shifts his body around her to support as much of her weight as he can without lifting her up, is that he _will_ die before he lets her get hurt again. He damn well tried this time; next time, and he has a certain feeling there will be a next time, he'll try even harder. Abby is everything he still believes in made flesh, and she does not deserve this, she does not deserve-

She makes a soft whimpery noise and he is reminded that somewhere beneath his carefully constructed barricades and ice, he does have a heart.

This is not the first time they have been so close. Always in the midst of tragedy, their collisions, but familiar enough that he knows how her body falls against his. She may or may not be crying - he can't tell, so much else going on, and he cannot believe this brave woman would fall apart with other people around but he almost wishes she would. An hour ago, as a sacrifice, she was strong. (Weeks ago, tied up and tortured as a final offering against his pride, she was stronger still.) He has seen how good she is at false fronts, and he wants… he wants…

"I've got you," he murmurs, tangling his hand in her hair and pulling her the slightest bit closer.

She is overwhelming. Has anyone ever told her that? Has she ever been made aware of her particular beauty and how it glows brightest when she has survived the unthinkable? Marcus knows this is neither the time nor the place to admit he finds her attractive - he's not sure she's lucid enough to hate him for it, but he knows how damningly perceptive she is even at her worst and he won't be that lucky - but he thinks it as he imprints her closeness into a safe part of his mind. This may never happen again, for all he knows. They might not get another moment like this. Perhaps the next time all hell breaks loose, in days or weeks or months or (please, he begs to every god he's ever heard legends of, let it be) years, they will be separated and he will be unable to tether her. Perhaps-

"Thank you," she breathes. Her voice is unusually soft, and warm in that way he's only heard directed at him a few times. It makes him feel as if light has exploded across his body, like perhaps there may yet be something good in him, and he thinks he would like to keep that feeling forever.

"I tried," he murmurs. "I should've tried harder. I should've-"

"Shhh." She leans back, separating her face from his jacket, and looks at him in what feels like a new way. "You're right. You tried. And you've had enough happen to you, and-"

Her voice cuts off as she tries to shift her weight and puts too much on her injury and again she screams. Quieter than when it was inflicted, yes, but still a noise that pierces his soul. She shouldn't be standing at all, yet there is nowhere to put her right now that isn't covered in something else, he's not in condition to carry her any decent distance, and quite frankly there is a _lot_ going on. This here, letting her rest against him, is the best he can do. It's not enough, he is not enough, he is-

"On me. I've got you."

She collapses again. In the midst of a situation almost designed as his own personal hell, the absence of some of her more defining traits is still a unique terror. Abby may well be easier to deal with like this, considering her current state of being, yet she's not _her_. He's used to her fire, and for now that has been put out, and it's not right, and-

He closes his eyes for a moment for fear he might say something reckless and allows himself to breathe her in. Small by comparison, yet she fits in his empty spaces both physically and emotionally. Cold, but he's learned that's her default and it doesn't worry him on a deeper level. A certain presence to her, echoes of touch and scent, and there is nowhere else he would rather be right now.

To have this under better circumstances would be an improvement, yes, but to have it at all is enough. To be the person she clings to, likely out of desperation but clinging all the same, and she makes him want to be a better man, she makes him-

"Whatever you need from me, just say."

She makes a soft purring kind of noise, her head resting on his shoulder again. "This is enough," she murmurs. "You are enough."

Someday, he hopes, he'll believe her.


End file.
